


my soul is mine alone to keep

by Starcrossedsky



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Depersonalization, MT Prompto Argentum, actually a robot MT Prompto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-10-05 09:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17322575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcrossedsky/pseuds/Starcrossedsky
Summary: The dangers of deploying MT prototypes to the Lucian front: Sometimes, they get the mostcuriousideas about what to do with themselves after going rogue.(Or: The MT!Prompto AU that just goes full on robot about it.)





	1. Chapter 1

Stride, stride, stride. The familiar clatter of armor from the other nearby units. Into the ship, and then out of the ship, the hard and heavy impact with the ground jostling but not damaging.

It's daylight, and the airship is already pulling away. If these units are successful -

(a streak of blue)

\- then they'll be recollected later and taken back to base. If not -

("Noct! There's too many, we have to retreat while we can!")

( _retreat?_ )

\- then it's not like anyone will bother to come looking.

("I can handle it, Ignis! We'll bust right through!")

In the melee across the road in northern Cleigne, a lone magitek trooper is pushed over the edge of a bridge, and falls.

No one comes looking.

\----

_"I didn't think you were usually this interested in military prototypes, Chancellor."_

_"What can I say? I like how this one looks at me."_

\----

There is no stimulus for pain, but the unit stays where it is, sure that some plate of its armor must be beyond repair from the fall.

The sun is still up.

It has seen what happens, to units with broken plating, whose insides are exposed to the sun. Nothing left behind but a cloud of black smoke.

So it waits.

\----

_"It'll be an interesting experiment, if nothing else. And I know you're always short on ideas. Go ahead and make a whole unit of them if you like."_

\----

Above, the sounds of battle are finished, and voices carry down - 

"Never seen MTs like those before."

"Indeed. They were quite peculiar, weren't they?"

"If by peculiar, you mean creepy as hell."

The voices are still speaking, but they fade out of the range of the unit's hearing.

\----

_"But this one is something special."_

_Chancellor Izunia lifts himself up from where he leans over the research desk, walking out with a jolly wave._

_Standing among its fellows, the unit doesn't follow him with its optics, but in some way, still, it watches him go._

_Research Chief Besithia glares at the Chancellor's retreating back, before picking up the design notes the man left behind, and starting to work._

\----

Night falls. Only then does the unit risk moving, risk taking stock of the damage in the dark. Its optics are low-light equipped, which is enough to be sure of its front and limbs. To check the back of its armor, it ducks under the bridge, away from even the light of the stars, and works the plate over by feel.

Dents, nothing more.

The plate snaps back into the place, and the unit simply... stands where it is. A daemon, small with long fingers and a pointed head, dances around it, perhaps curious, but it does not attack.

Magitek troopers are produced from daemons. Perhaps it can sense the same in the unit that the unit senses in it, that flicker of black flame. The unit's is stronger, even if it is merely wisps bound to circuits and a shell of metal.

Another daemon appears. Then another, and another. Eventually, there are five.

Together, their flames are more than the unit's. They attack, slashing long fingers and erratic movements.

Something in the unit kindles. With the erratic, sudden movement it's been programmed with, it strikes back. And then with a movement that wasn't programmed by anyone at all, it seizes one of the little daemons to throw into the others.

Just like troopers, they dissolve into black smoke.

The unit doesn't understand what it means, that it fights with the daemons, which are not an assigned target. But when it's all over, the black flame burns a little stronger, and the daemons are no more.

\----

A day passes, and the next night, a bomb floats in from the outside to investigate the space under the bridge. The unit destroys that, too. Its plating is covered in ash as a result, some of the outer shell charred, but nothing that risks exposing its core.

Its charge is running low, and so it risks venturing out, under the safety of nightfall. There is a large daemon with a red flaming sword lighting up the bush in the distance, but it's easy enough to avoid, even if the unit isn't exactly quiet.

No one has come looking. It isn't intended to be active for this long without oversight. It walks, but already it is finding that the rough, hilly terrain is forcing it to constantly recalibrate its balance. It isn't _simple_ , like programmed marches out of drop ships. It takes effort, processors whirring, using up what power the unit has left.

Following shifting blue lights in the distance leads the unit to a stroke of luck, as it almost literally walks into a natural energy deposit. The crackle of electricity is different from the containers and batteries it's used to, but it should work.

It has to work. Base is much too far for the unit to reach before its power supply fails. It digs a small array of wires from under its plating, and attaches them to the deposit.

It has to work. There is nothing in the unit's programming that supports this conclusion, and yet something in the dark flame of its core flickers. Something that is a little more like a daemon than a trooper, and yet isn't quite like either of those things at all. A daemon's self-preservation, tempered by wires and processors and programming.

The unit doesn't activate any motor functions as it starts to drain the deposit. If this doesn't work, it's best to conserve power. The electrical power crackles under metal, jointed digits.

It works.

\----

As the sun rises, the unit detaches itself from the now-depleted deposit and returns the wires and receptors to their proper places inside of its plating. It will have to find more if it wants to make its way back to base.

After all, no one is coming.

\----

It's the fourth night and the third such deposit that the unit runs into a complication. 

The complication is humans. They're nearby, watching the unit from the other side of the bushes.

Humans are so much better at stealth than troopers or daemons. The unit understands the concept of moving quietly, but rattling plates prevent it from doing so, and daemons don't seem to understand even if they're capable. Humans can be quiet, and they don't have the same dark flame inside that daemons and troopers do.

(Except for Imperial Chancellor Izunia, who has the strongest flame of all, impossible to miss.)

"That's gotta be it," says one of the humans to the others. "I bet it's the one Gladio knocked off the bridge the other day. Sure _looks_ like it's been running around in the woods for a while."

The unit turns in that direction, which causes one of the other humans to shush the speaking one. It can barely see them through the leaves, but its memory is machine-perfect, and it can recognize their voices.

(Why this matters, it isn't sure.)

There is silence, or what passes for silence, with wind rustling bushes. Then another of the humans says, "It's just... staring at us. Why isn't it attacking?"

"The report _did_ say that it has only shown aggression towards daemons," says the third human.

"Must have gotten some circuits knocked loose," the second human mutters in reply. The unit pauses, running an internal check against the hypothesis. No, nothing knocked loose.

Either the humans attack or they don't. Without a commanding officer, the unit has to give orders to itself, and so it orders itself to continue on towards the blue lights. It has learned that it cannot enter the lit area directly, and so if it does not readily find the electrical deposit it needs, it will have to circle around.

Small sounds through the bushes indicate that the humans are following as it wanders around before finding the electrical deposit. The unit unwinds its wires carefully before applying them and starting to drain the deposit. With batteries still mostly full, it won't need all of the energy, but it doesn't know when it will find the next one. Other than the direction of the base, it is not equipped with mapping software.

(That's for units that are supposed to return, valuable prototypes rather than cosmetic ones.)

"It's draining the deposit," says one of the humans to the others, almost quiet enough that the individual words are lost in rustling leaves.

"Charging its batteries. Smart, if it figured out that there's usually deposits near havens."

"Smart, and concerning," says the third human. "We've never seen any indication that they're capable of reason before now."

"Let's follow it for another day," says the first human. "See what it does."

The others agree. The unit keeps listening until its power supply is full, but they say nothing more after that.

\----

The humans are still following when the dropship passes overhead. It gets a bit beyond them, and there stops, the engine noises changing as it descends, the opening only a short distance from the wayward unit.

The unit pauses. Is it going to be picked up after all?

It isn't. Newly arrived units charge out of the dropship, established models instead of prototypes, and they make their way towards the muddy and dented unit that stands at the edge of the bushes. Most of them walk right past, headed for the humans a short distance away, but three of them - 

MT units aren't like daemons, they don't think beyond their programming. (Right? Isn't that surely the case?) But the unit different from its fellows recognizes that they have a target, and that target is - 

A bullet hits it in the shoulder, and then it has to move, because the axeman in the front of the group is swinging and would have taken its arm off at the shoulder. Or worse, because a damaged enough hull casing and in the sunlight - 

(One of the humans, engaged with the other units, yells, "They're taking out their own guys?"

One of the others says, "Focus, Noct! Worry about the rogue MT later!")

The unit has fought daemons. The dark flame in it is stronger than in the other units. But that doesn't mean anything if it doesn't have a weapon, a way to defend itself. It backs away from the axeman, towards where the humans are fighting. There's more gunfire, the axeman takes another swing, and - 

( _Imagine_ , the Chancellor says, leaning over the desk. _What if they could learn?_

_That would defeat the purpose,_ the Research Chief replies.

_But, my dear Verstael, wouldn't it be **fun**?_)

There is a sniper unit behind it, focused on the humans. Unlike the axeman, the rogue unit can hit it from behind, take its weapon, defend itself.

Or simply drag the other unit into the axeman's way, which is what it does. Sniper units aren't especially sturdy. The axe breaks the other unit's casing, black spilling out, boiling away in the sun. The rogue unit takes the gun from the sniper just as one of the humans - the smallest one, the one that burns to be near - appears in the air, crashing into the axeman with a sword.

Then he turns to the rogue unit, sword raised to strike, and behind it, another of the units raises its gun to shoot. The human is exposed, vulnerable.

The unit takes aim. It shoots over the human's shoulder, at the unit on the far side. The human freezes, as though expecting the shot to land in him, but instead the faraway unit crumples, three neat holes in its casing.

The human looks over his shoulder at the unit, stares for a moment, and

(he's not the target)

(when did the other units become targets?)

"T-thanks," the human says, some kind of error in its vocalization, and the unit doesn't respond except to turn its weapon on the rest.

It is not a long battle. The three humans are skilled, and there are not many other units. The last falls into a pool of black (just like the daemons the rogue unit fought) and the unit just stands there looking at the three of them.

There is no programming for what it's doing now. There might not be programming ever again.

The tallest human still has a weapon out, a sword as large as the unit it. He starts to approach, but the smallest human steps between them.

"Gladio, wait," he says.

"It's still an MT, Noct," the tall one replies. 

"It saved me, Gladio," says the small one. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but it's not like the others."

The unit stands. Its processors whirl hard enough to be at risk of overheating.

The last human looks at it, adjusting some kind of lens in front of his optics. "Let's test it before we make any decisions," he says. Then he takes a step closer, closer still.

"Iggy - " the tall one starts, taking a half-step forward himself, but a gesture of some kind from the human in the lenses stops him.

"If you can understand me," the human says as he comes to a stop, "Drop your weapon."

(It's an order.)

(It's been a long time since anyone gave the unit orders.)

(Do units have to follow orders from targets that aren't targets anymore?)

(What does it mean, to be a unit that is a target?)

The unit hesitates. (The unit understands the concept of hesitation, even if it doesn't have the name for it. Processors hum.)

And then it drops the weapon from its hands. The gun, empty of bullets, falls with a clatter onto the stone-strewn ground.

(If you're a target, then you aren't a unit anymore.)

(But if you're not a unit, then what are you?)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please bear with local unit as he makes his way to proper second person perspective
> 
> Also, just throwing this out here for the record: If my inspiration doesn't sputter and die, expect this fic to continue up to and into the World of Ruin. It's going to be an angsty ride here, my friends.

The humans all stay where they are, looking at the weapon on the ground.

"Well," says the one in the lenses, "I daresay that's rather conclusive, isn't it?"

"Just because it understands us, doesn't mean it's not a threat," the tall one says, shifting his weight back and forth. But the weapon vanishes from his hands.

"I can't believe that actually worked," says the small one. "Think it knows anything?"

The unit stands where it is, watching them. It doesn't do anything else.

"Just because it understands, doesn't mean that it can _communicate_ ," the one in the lenses says. "But it does seem to have some reasoning ability, at the very least."

"I don't like it," the tall one says. "Last thing we need is smart MTs."

The small human comes closer, standing next to the one with lenses. "The hunters wanted us to find out what the hell's up with this thing anyway, right?" he says. "We might as well _try_ asking it. Hey, can you like, talk?"

The unit is - 

(Is he talking to you?)

(He has to be.)

The unit cannot respond in the affirmative or the negative. Those responses have not been defined. But it stands a little straighter, its plates rattling together.

"Let's start a little simpler," the one in the lenses says. "Moving your head up and down is yes, and moving it from side to side is no. Do you understand?"

The unit lifts and lowers its head, once, twice.

(Is that enough? It seems to be.)

"Can you speak?"

Head left, right, left, right. There's no need for a unit to be able to give orders. The capability would be expensive to install.

"Can you write?"

The unit is still.

(What's the response for not knowing?)

The human in lenses hums. 

"Maybe it doesn't know," the small one says, and even though it isn't a question, the unit - 

You lift your head up and down. Affirmative. Correct.

"We may as well try," the human in the lenses says. He starts to take something out of his pockets.

"Still think this is a bad idea," the tall one says.

"We hear you, Gladio," the small one says. (Is Gladio the human's designation? You don't know. All you know is that human designations have titles and sounds that don't make any words at all.)

The one with the lenses approaches, his hands where the unit can see them, a small notebook and a pen held out. He doesn't seem to quite want to touch, but the unit gets the idea, taking the pen and paper in metal fingers that weren't designed for tasks of such dexterity.

Human hands are so much steadier. Better designed for the task of writing. (But you - )

"What is your objective?" the human in the lenses asks, his eyes never leaving the pad of paper.

Slowly, shakily, the unit manages to write, in letters too large for the lined pages.

_No objective. No target._

"I see. Then, what is it you want?"

(Want?)

The unit remains where it is, the question not processing correctly. There's a silent stand off for a moment.

Then, finally, the tall human (Gladio) says, "Don't think it understands the question, Iggy."

"I suppose even a reasoning machine has its limits," the one in the lenses replies. "Very well. Why do you drain the energy deposits?"

That is a question the unit can answer, though it takes some time and fills most of the page. _A unit can only function in the field for 96 hours before requiring recharging._

"What happens if you - I mean, what happens to a unit that runs out of charge?" the small human says, squinting at the answer.

The unit is forced to turn to a new page. _A unit that has run out of charge will deactivate._

(And then, for some reason, you can't stop - )

_A deactivated unit will disperse in a fashion similar to a damaged unit at the next sunrise, unless recovered and returned to base._

The small human exchanges looks with the other two. "So it's just... trying to stay alive?"

"It appears so," says the one in the lenses. "A will to survive, but no sense of self."

"Or at least not one it understands," Gladio says. "It's a daemon in a computer, it's - hey, would another MT do that? Try to find some way to charge out in the field?"

(You hesitate.)

_Less than 3% chance. This unit is an experimental prototype._

"That's good, at least," the small human says. "Not going to have a bunch of other MTs hanging around, creeping around havens."

"A prototype designed for what purpose?" the one in the lenses asks.

_Dynamic combat response._

"Great," says the small human, sounding like he means the exact opposite.

The human in the lenses ignores him. "Who gives you orders now?"

_No one,_ the unit writes. _There are no orders. This unit is_

The sentence starts. But the unit doesn't know how to finish it. After the humans read it, and realize that the unit can't finish it, the big one mutters, "Shit."

"We can't just leave it," the small one says. "Not with that bill up. Some other hunter is going to come along if we don't..."

"Are you proposing that we leave it be, Noct?" the one in the lenses says.

"It hasn't hurt anyone since it fell off the bridge, right?" Noct replies. "The only people it attacked then were us, and we were... targets?"

He's looking at the unit, and the unit takes a moment to realize that that is a request to confirm. It makes the up and down motion of its head again. Yes, these humans were targets.

(They're not anymore. It is too soon to call them allies, but you think that they might be good ones. They're strong and hardy and they've taken out a lot of other units.) 

(You ignore that MTs don't have allies.) 

The human in the lenses sighs. "It might be feasible if it agrees to not go near settlements," he says. 

Again, it takes the unit a moment to realize that it is the subject in question. Humans have strange ways of speaking, it is beginning to realize, and don't always say right out what they mean. 

Still, it does the head up and down motion again. Avoiding human settlements is not difficult, even as it must keep moving in search of new sources of energy. 

(And it makes sense - you begin to understand - a human that sees an MT doesn't understand that they aren't a target. In order to keep functioning, you need to avoid humans.) 

(You don't yet think of it as living.) 

"... Very well," says the human in lenses. "But if this goes badly - " 

"You don't have to say it, Iggy," Noct says. "We'll take care of it." 

There is something final about the words. After collecting the notebook and pen from you, the humans leave. 

(They don't leave you with any idea what to do with yourself.) 

(You miss orders. They were simpler.) 

\----

It's a couple days before the unit runs into the humans again, or indeed any other humans. The energy deposits tend to be near but not too close to settlements, almost always within sight of one of the stone circles with its blue lines that the unit cannot enter. Something in the dark flame that powers it screams when it tries, a feeling like something clawing at the inside of its plating.

So the unit doesn't understand the purpose of the stone circles until it comes across the trio of humans again, with a temporary structure and a fire going atop one. Then the pieces fall into place quickly - a place that daemons do not enter s a safe place for humans to rest, to recharge and take on nourishment and the other functions that MTs do not need to perform.

The unit makes its way over to the electrical deposit, keeping an eye on the humans on the high ground, but they don't seem to be on-guard enough to notice it. Or perhaps they don't consider it a threat. 

(Which is foolish. You took the gun after they left, and though most of the clip was gone and the rest has been spent on a brief encounter with daemons the night before, if you _did_ still have bullets, you wouldn't have to enter the runes to shoot them.)

(Even if other MTs don't consider strategy the way you do, because you're a prototype and they're unmodified, surely one of their commanders should have thought of that.)

After watching them for a few minutes, the unit settles in to connect to the deposit and recharge. It's gotten better at connecting the wires the way they need to go, so the process doesn't take nearly as long as it did that first, incredibly desperate time. But by the time that's done, one of the humans - the small one - has come down from the high ground to observe the process.

"Hey," he says. Not sure how exactly to acknowledge him, the unit turns its head in his direction, though the rest of its body remains still. "You... doing okay, I guess? You look like you've seen better days."

The unit stares at him without reaction.

"...Right," the human says. He reaches out, in the way that the unit has seen him and the others reach for weapons, and the unit braces - but what he pulls out is a notebook and a pen, both quite a bit larger than the ones the unit used previously. "Here, you can use these."

The unit lifts its hands from the deposit to take the items, setting the notebook on the stone in order to write in it. It writes quickly before allowing the human to see the page.

(You write quickly, before you talk yourself out of it.)

_What does "seen better days" mean?_

"Shit, right," the human says after seeing the message. "I guess figures of speech aren't really your thing, huh?"

It doesn't seem to be a request for input, but the unit nods its head, just slightly.

"Okay, so, uh, in this case it means that you've had a hard time out here. Like, your - plating, I guess? - is starting to look pretty grimy and stuff."

This makes sense. The unit nods, and writes in the notebook, _It is impossible to return to base for maintenance at this time._

(Or ever.)

(You haven't let yourself think about that.)

"Yeah, I guess not," the human says. He sits on the rocks just a short distance away. "Is there like... anything you can do yourself?"

_Units are not supplied for maintenance,_ the unit writes. _It is possible to take care of the external maintenance with appropriate supplies, but if my circuits fail_

And then the unit sees what it has written, and stops.

The human doesn't seem to notice the slip.

(An MT isn't a human. You have no face to make expressions and no body language to show the reaction of shock.)

(You were built to fight. Your prototype was built to think. But you were never built to communicate.)

He says, "Yeah, I guess... That's not good. How likely is that to happen?"

(You gladly start scribbling the answer, because it is something else to think about. Your processors whirr loudly enough that you can't imagine that the human doesn't hear them.)

_As a prototype, this unit received regular maintenance before being deployed. Odds of routine malfunction are low. However, damage in an encounter with humans, daemons, or other units remains a possibility._

"That's good, at least," the human says. And then he squints at the paper, frowning. "Wait, daemons? You fight them, too?"

_MT units are responsible for safeguarding civilians from daemons,_ is the first thing the unit writes - the automatic response, the one that's all protocol and programming. Its hand moves down the page, and then it writes underneath, _Aggressive daemons also attack MT units, as well as humans._

"Shit," the human says again.

The unit remains still for a moment before putting the pen down and shifting, to show the human a section of the plating on its side. It is only cosmetic damage, but the claw marks from the daemons it has fought remain.

The human sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment. "That's from daemons?" he asks.

The unit nods, and then writes, _It is fortunate that the claws did not penetrate deeper into the plating._

"Yeah, you got lucky," the human agrees. "I just - look, do you have a name? A designation or something?"

(Another question that you can answer without thinking too hard about it.)

_N-series unit number 05953234,_ the unit writes. When the human doesn't make any acknowledgement, it continues, _Full designation N-iP013357 05953234._

"I should've figured it would be numbers," the human mutters under his breath. "I - okay. I'm Noctis. Stay here for a minute, okay?"

He stays in place until the unit nods, and then turns to sprint up the stone to where the other humans are. The unit watches him for a moment, as the three start to talk, then turns its attention to where its draw from the elemental deposit it complete.

It puts the wires away under its plating where it belongs, and then it waits.

\----

When Noctis returns, it is with the other two humans in tow. The unit receives their formal designations properly - Ignis and Gladiolus, who it is instructed can be called Gladio.

It learns - it is common for humans with particularly long designations to have what is called a 'nickname.'

That is the end of what the unit truly understands about the encounter, because it is at that point that Noctis starts pulling out rags and small tins labeled 'Rust treatment' and 'varnish,' while Ignis sighs and adjusts his glasses.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he says to Noctis, before turning to look at the unit. "We're not particularly familiar with magitek maintenance," he says, "but if it's alright with you, we can at least remove some of the damage from your external plating."

(If it's alright?)

The unit nods slowly, with the dawning realization - the rust treatment is intended for it. Of course. The exposed plating will soon oxidize without regular maintenance, where it hasn't already.

Noctis comes closer and sets a metal container labeled "WD-40" on the stone next to the unit. "Let's get started, then," he says. And he takes gentle hold of the unit's shoulder and begins to scrub into the plating with the rag and a piece of steel wool, flaking off the first bits of oxidized metal with numerous small circles.

The unit isn't certain what to make of it.

Eventually, Ignis returns to the campsite up on the rune-covered rock, while Gladio takes a seat a little further away and pulls his large weapon from wherever it goes when it is not in use. The unit does not feel the tension of potential aggression from him, however, and when he takes a rag from the pile next to Noctis - 

Humans have to maintain their weapons, too. It's perfectly logical, but it's something that the unit hadn't considered. It knew only that human maintenance was different, involving things called "food" and "sleep."

Noctis continues to rub away the oxidation on the unit's armor, and the unit only hesitates for a moment before taking a rag and some of the chemicals itself. It has never performed its own maintenance, but between what it remembers and what Noctis is doing, it doesn't take it long to figure out how to effectively remove the rust from its feet and landing gear.

It's... good. Though the maintenance Noctis is doing is more cosmetic than functional, secure outer plating won't develop pinholes that could let sunlight into the unit's core. It makes the unit feel...

(MT units don't feel.)

(You don't know the words for it, anyway.)

When the outer plating is done and polished, and Gladio has long since finished his weapons maintenance and is only watching, Noctis takes one of the unit's hands and the WD-40 canister. "It's a lubricant," he says. "Cindy swears by it."

The unit doesn't recognize the designation, but it nods, and allows Noctis to fit the tip of the nozzle into the joints of its hand, moving only when instructed to spread the lubricant in the inside of the joints. Little resistances in the motion that it hadn't even noticed disappear. The unit can't stop moving its fingers as Noctis starts on the other hand.

When the sky starts to darken significantly, Ignis calls out from the camp above, "Food is ready if you two are." 

Noctis pauses, then looks down at the nearly complete lubrication maintenance on the unit's hand. "Think you can finish this up?" he asks.

The unit nods, taking the can.

"Just go easy on the nozzle, or it'll get everywhere," Noctis says. "C'mon, Gladio, let's eat."

"Better wash your hands first," Gladiolus says, straightening up from his position on the rock and making a motion that seems to be testing his own joints.

(You wonder, for the first time, how humans work on the inside, if they aren't made of circuits and bearings. When you catch yourself wondering, your first impulse is to stop - but who would care any longer, what a rogue unit wonders?)

(Top-of-the-line as your processors are, they seem to be never quite enough, for all the data and conclusions you draw when humans are around.)

"Yeah, good plan." Noctis turns back to you and nods. "Keep the can if you want. The notebook and stuff too."

The unit, once again, has no adequate way to express the amount this is unexpected. It freezes in place, and can only watch as the two humans ascend to their camp.

MT units don't have possessions. Even equipment such as weapons is returned to the appropriate stations after a deployment. Possessions are for humans.

(But you aren't exactly the same as a regular MT unit anymore.)

(Is it okay?)

The unit finishes lubricating its hand, and turns the can over. Its feet and landing gear need lubrication, too. Is it acceptable to use the can for that?

It looks up at the humans again, but they don't seem to be paying it any mind. They're sitting around the fire, talking, not even looking in its direction.

When the unit lifts a panel in its leg to access the shock absorbing mechanism, they don't react. And when it uses the can to give the area some of the lubricant, they don't even seem to notice. 

The unit wipes away excess lubricant with a rag Noctis left behind, and focuses its attention on the job of completing what maintenance it can. By the time it is finished, the sun has set completely.

The humans at the camp above have transitioned from whatever discussion they were having to making wordless sounds of enjoyment. (Laughter, but it isn't the same as the laughter that the human researchers and officers sometimes made.)

When the task is complete, the unit is still faced with the can, and the notebook and pen. _Keep it if you want._

(For the first time, you understand wanting.)

The unit closes the cover of the notebook and slides the pen securely into the spiral binding where it stays. With its newly lubricated hands, the job is easier, smoother, more coordinated.

There is a way to slightly disengage the plating over its torso. The unit does so, and attempts to slide the notebook behind the mechanism. It fits.

It owns something, now.

(Every day, you slide a little further and further, from what you were designed to be - )


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mostly written in a fit of sleep-deprived scrawling; thanks Cygna for coherency checking, as always

The humans remain at their camp throughout the night, and the unit doesn't end up leaving, either. When a bomb appears in the deepest part of the night, the unit retreats to as close to the glowing blue stone as it dares, carrying the canister of lubricant with it.

But the bomb only bounces around the outside of the border for a time before wandering off again. The humans in their temporary shelter don't even rouse to watch it.

In the morning, Ignis is the first awake, and pauses looking at the unit over the edge of the stone. "Still here?" he says, sounding a bit surprised. "Well, I suppose the nights are likely as unsafe to you as they are to us."

The unit, still uncertain if a response is required, nods. Ignis nods back, seemingly satisfied, and begins to tear down the camp stove and other supplies.

It's not long before Gladiolus exits the tent as well. "I know it saved Noct's life and all," he says, "but that MT scares me."

"It's still here," Ignis says. "Just below the edge of the haven."

"Shit," Gladiolus says. "Think it's listening?"

"I'd imagine so, but it's impossible to tell. I won't be taking body language for granted any longer, if nothing else."

(Body language? What is that?)

"No kidding. And I thought Noct was closed off - he's an easy read in comparison."

Ignis hums. The unit doesn't look up at them, but it hears the sound of a ceramic vessel being set down. "Do you think it experiences emotions at all?" he says. "It's a bit of daemon in a computer -"

"Definitely," Gladiolus interrupts. There's silence for a moment. "Remember how it cut off writing when you asked who gives it orders now? And when it was telling Noct about its circuits dying?"

"You think that a symptom of emotional response?" Ignis asks.

"Yeah. I don't like it, but I think that's what it is." Footsteps, and then Gladiolus sighs. "I think it's confused, and probably scared."

(You scan your vocabulary unit for a match. Confused, yes, unable to come to a proper conclusion. You don't have a baseline for "scared.")

"Noct may not be the only one with a bit of attachment to it," Ignis says.

Gladiolus grunts. "Look, if it makes a problem, I can take care of it. I'm not that soft hearted."

"I didn't say you were," Ignis says. "Do you think it _will_ be a problem?"

"Dunno. I don't think it knows, either."

(It's true. You don't want to be a problem, though. You understand what "taking care of it" means, and you don't think you could match Gladiolus in a one on one combat unless you  
had a gun and got a lucky shot in.)

"Is it safe to leave it alone, then?" Ignis asks.

"Think so. Doesn't seem to react unless it's threatened, and hell - if it's hunting down daemons, then it's protecting people. Might be better to just leave it."

"That was my thought as well," Ignis says. He sighs, and there's the sound of moving ceramics again. "Drag his Highness out, would you? It's about time to hit the road."

Before long, Noctis is hauled from the temporary structure, making displeased noises that fade as Ignis puts some form of nourishment into his hands. As the humans pack up and leave, he makes a gesture the unit isn't familiar with, raising one hand over his head and moving it back and forth, before turning away.

And then the unit is alone again.

(You don't know that the emotion you feel, as they walk away, has a name - disappointment.)

\----

The unit eventually comes to the base that was at one point its goal, the magitek field still providing ambient charge to the units inside.

No one has told the unit what to do, now. There are no orders. And so it hides itself in a bush up against the wall of the base and simply remains, for a time, existing.

It doesn't like at all just standing there and existing. There is no goal, no purpose, and it...

It _misses_ having a purpose.

Even more so when night falls, and no daemons approach, the lights of the base more than enough to ward them away. At least fighting daemons was _something_ that it could do, some directive it could fulfill.

The next day, nothing has changed, except that rain pours down without end, and thunder crackles in the distance until nightfall.

\----

And the next...

"We'll wait until after nightfall," comes a familiar voice, filtering through the trees. Ignis. "The east side has a suitable entrance, but the base will be more vulnerable then."

"Niffs won't know what hit 'em," says Gladio, and there's the shuffling sound of one of the giant birds the unit has seen around pawing at the dirt.

" _Good_ ," says Noctis. The tone of his voice is different, and while the unit has mostly learned to ignore the feeling of him, all white and like the sun ready to extinguish any black sparks it might find, that power has swelled now. It crackles, like the last night's storm, like the electrical deposits under the unit's hands. "Let's take back what's ours."

The unit remains still, until after they're gone. It feels sure that they must have heard the whirr of its processors, as it realized what they were planning, but they don't seem to have realized that it was even there.

Along its circuits, programming wars with its experiences. Loyalty to the Empire is paramount, that is the whole and sum of the function of MT units. To serve the Empire.

But that same Empire would destroy the unit immediately if it stepped out from behind this bush when a patrol went by. Simply avoiding that fate is not betrayal, but now - 

Noctis burns so brightly. The unit thinks that he could destroy a great deal of equipment and resources, given the chance.

It has the notebook, tucked still into its plating. It could communicate the coming threat to the base, at the cost of its - 

(life)

\- at the cost of being deactivated. Loyalty demands that it do so.

But that very notebook was a gift from the humans intent on assaulting the base. The humans who stopped to perform maintenance on the unit, who helped it - who, the unit suddenly realizes, had orders to eliminate it as well, and chose not to. That was what they were talking about, the first few times it overheard them.

Loyalty to the Empire demands one course of action. But self-preservation demands that the unit stand aside. And something else, some other newborn loyalty - 

(It would have been so easy, for them to destroy you.)

An hour later, the unit stands at the edge of the campground, with the notebook in its hand. And inside is a map of the base, as detailed as it can remember.

(When your memory is stored in circuitboards and wires, that's quite detailed indeed.)

\----

Once the unit is committed to a course of action, it's committed.

And so when Ignis asks if it intends to assist them in assaulting the base, it only pauses a moment before nodding.

"Could be a trap," it hears Gladiolus mutter off to the side.

(You can hear him.)

"I don't think so," Ignis says. "There's not much to be gained from such a deception. The Empire doesn't seem to like rogue units any more than it does us, after all."

"Hate to say it, but we need all the help we can get," Noctis says. 

"That's kind of what got us into this situation in the first place," Gladiolus says, but then he sighs and nods, and that's that.

\----

Some hours later, the unit is experiencing for the first time what might be called regret.

It's gotten separated from the rest of the group, though the sounds of fighting aren't far off - it seems the attempt at stealth has come to an end. Other units, as well as human soldiers, continue to move towards the center of the base, near the field generator where the unit sometimes sees the blue flashes of Noctis' magic.

It has a gun, and picks off snipers from their platforms while their attention is elsewhere with ease. In spite of being separated, everything seems to be going well, except that the others haven't been able to disable the field generator, and then - 

Thunder rolls. The unit doesn't look up.

(You will remember, later, that you should have looked up.)

It doesn't realize the danger until the staff of the god descends, lightning crackling, far worse than a single storm strike, and it - 

ERROR

ERROR

EORRORERROEROER...

The unit (you) crumples to the ground, as circuits misfire and fry and programming fails. For the first time - for a long time - as the clouds part and let the dim light of dawn fall upon the ruins of the base, all you experience is pain.

And yet.

_I don't want to die, I don't want to die here, I don't want to -_

That tiny voice repeats itself, and the black flame inside you flares, burning wildly as the only thing that can sustain you. It doesn't have the power to repair your fried circuits, and yet, somehow...

You move. With a seizing, stumbling gait, all-but-dragging one leg, you follow in the direction of Noctis and the others as they prepare to leave the base.

(Above you, watching, is a brilliant black flame, considering you thoughtfully - )

\----

You still have a gun, and as High Commander Nox Fleuret advances on Noctis, sword drawn - 

Your hands are still shaky (won't stop shaking, can't stop, the stabilizing bearings are fried), and that's the only reason the bullet glances off the Commander's magitek arm instead of going through his skull. 

But it is enough that they all turn and look at you, Gladiolus already pressed back against the side of the vehicle by the High Commander's attack, Ignis muttering something under his breath. Noctis is frozen, with wide eyes, and the High Commander turns, sword not quite falling back to his side as he looks at you - 

"Well," comes a voice, deep and cheerful, and the sound of footsteps. "I think that's rather enough of that, isn't it?"

There could be no mistaking him, not for you. Chancellor Izunia walks into the tension as though it doesn't exist, blazing so darkly that it's a wonder that the humans can't sense it. Noctis looks dim by comparison. 

"I'm sure the Prince and his friends have places to be," he continues, stepping close enough to the High Commander that the man steps back, just enough that you can see it. "Let's let them on their way, shall we?"

Silence, for a moment, and then the High Commander turns more fully in your direction. "Very well. Let me dispose of the rogue and then we will take our leave."

"He's with us," Noctis interrupts, immediately, almost too quickly for you to understand (your processors are fried, it's a wonder you can understand anything at all).

The High Commander turns to stare at him. You can't see the expression on his face, but Noctis draws himself up straighter.

"He's with us, Ravus," he repeats, meeting the Commander's eyes without flinching.

"...Fine," Ravus says, turning away again. "If you're foolish enough to _care_ about a malfunctioning trooper..."

He doesn't finish the thought, just turns and walks off. Chancellor Izunia barely lingers any longer than that, only raising his hat at Noctis before following Ravus out.

And the three who remain - 

"Shit," Noctis says, as you take a wobbling step in their direction. He sprints over and tucks his shoulder under one of your arms. "How the hell are you still standing? Did you seriously get caught in that blast?"

You try to nod, but something sparks in your neck support, and not only does the motion not happen, but Noctis hisses as the sparks spray into the side of his head. 

"Iggy," he says. "Get the roof up."

"Right," Ignis says after a moment of hesitation, and starts climbing into the front seat. Gladiolus stands where he is for a moment.

"Noct..." he says, quietly, warily, eyes locked on you.

"Either help load him or get in the car, Gladio," Noctis almost snaps. 

Gladiolus sighs, but he comes forward and takes your other arm, and helps load you into the back of the vehicle. It's very different from the dropships and other military vehicles you've been in before.

"Good thing the back's roomy," Gladiolus says, giving you one last look before climbing into the front seat. Noctis gives your leg - the more damaged one that you're practically dragging - a bit of a boost into the back of the car, then slides onto the seat next to you.

"Best call Cid," Ignis says, as the door shuts. "Warn him before we show up with a malfunctioning trooper on his doorstep." 

"Yeah," Noctis agrees. The car's engine starts, and as Ignis starts to drive you out of the base, you hear him start to speak into a communication device.

It all sounds like so much static, though. And outside the glass of the window, it starts to rain...


End file.
